Please
by medicgirl
Summary: A shameless look inside Jackson's tortured mind while reliving his childhood. Because there is just not enough Jackson whump!


A/N: This is born simply out of the lack of Jackson-whump stories for this fandom. Kinda short an not the best, This scene just begged for a deeper look into what he had to go through.

Jackson felt his blood pressure shoot up at what Mitch was suggesting. Did he know what he was asking of him? Trying to meet his friend's eyes and failing as Mitch looked everywhere but directly at him, he realized that he knew. Knew that what he needed was going to be rough on Jackson, but that it was necessary. He wanted to argue, to fight or resist, but the stakes were just too high. Fate of the world and all that... He sat down on the table.

Really he had expected the needle to hurt more. To at least give a kind of steadying, grounding pain that could hold him in this world. But Mitch was surprisingly gentle for someone who spent his career working with dead animals. He barely felt it it pierce his hand. Laying back on the table, he braced himself for what was to come. Part of him wished Abe was here, but he didn't want him to see this. Or to squash Mitch like a bug for putting him through this. Though the next few minutes would be hell, he could take it. After all, he had survived it once already.

A sedative, hypnotic, Mitch had said. To help him remember what he had worked so hard to repress. But nothing prepared him for the feeling. He had expected a flood of memories. What he had not signed on for was the feeling of being there that hit him, the sensory nerves responding to the coarse ferrit fur under his hand, for the rolling of his ten-year-old stomach as he started at its brain on his dad's lab table. These were supposed to be memories! Why was he there again?! And could his adult mind survive what it had gone through as a more flexible child? He looked around for something to hold him in real world, but Mitch still wouldn't look him in the eye. He knew this was tearing Jackson apart and either couldn't face the pain it was causing or wanting to give him the privacy to endure it without embarrassment.

The other world was overwhelming him. He had signed on for remembering, not reliving! Jackson was not weak. He could take a lot, had taken a lot in his life. But he would gladly face torture over this. No amount of electrical shocks, lashes of a whip cutting into his back, no beating or even waterboarding would be as damaging as reliving parts of his childhood. "Mitch!" he cried, weakly, shaking like an addict in withdrawal. The older man kept asking, digging at his dad's office. The warning signs directing him away from there were strong, and this felt less like an experiment than an interrogation. Had he been being tortured, he would give up whatever they wanted. He wished so bad he could just give Mitch the information he needed. Wished his brain would just cough up the information, spare him what his subconscious was fight so hard. "I need a break. I can't..." He trailed off, aware and hating how weak his voice sounded. "Just a few minutes, p-"

He cut off the word sharply as Mitch finally met his eyes. He saw the look, the set of his jaw, and it looked familiar. It had been the look on his own face reflected in the cold steel around him as he flipped the switch basically electrocuting Dariella. Knowing he was hurting her, hurting Abe... It had been bad. And knowing it had been necessary had not made it easier. It had made it possible. This was necessary too.

Clearly not reading Jackson's mind, Mitch slapped his hand down over the IV in his right hand. His words were brutal, cutting, and gave him enough shame to keep going. The drug shot through his body once more, the combination of it, anger, shame, and fear slammed through the last of his defenses. He was there, in his dad's office, holding the lighter. This was what his mind had spared him from, the fact that all the hell he went through was of his own doing. He had made his dad what he became, had kept him from being able to stop all that was going on. He father's blood was on his own hands. Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at the burning wall, getting the letters Mitch needed. Even as he fought his way back to the surface, to become his adult self again, his mind was shattered by the revelation of the past. He might have saved the world, maybe even himself. But the cost was high, and he wasn't sure he would be able to find a way to live with it.


End file.
